


Drive Me Wild

by EarthsickWithoutYou



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Daddy Kink, Enemies to Lovers, Idiots in Love, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Orgasm Delay, Romance, Rough Sex, Sex Toys, Size Kink, Slapping, Tenderness, all the feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:21:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24526051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EarthsickWithoutYou/pseuds/EarthsickWithoutYou
Summary: Set during Season 2 after Will's release from the BSHCI.  Hannibal and Will begin a steamy affair, under Will's strict insistence that they don't talk during sex and they never acknowledge their trysts afterwards.  But as the feelings between them grow even more intense with time, it's getting harder for Will to pretend it isn't happening.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 204
Kudos: 842





	1. Chapter 1

_You carried romance in the palm of your hand  
You called the plays for us  
You clung to self-restraint, you followed your plan  
You put the brakes on this  
And it drove me  
And it drove me  
And it drove me wild_  
-Tegan and Sara

Losing sleep was nothing new to Will, but tonight’s version of tossing and turning came without the usual nightmares. He didn’t wake from a terrifyingly delicious vision of bloodshed to find that no one answered his half-panicked, half-elated cries except for the faint barking of the dogs. He didn’t drench the sheets with the sweat of his continually suppressed becoming. 

He just lay there glaring at the ceiling, his whole body tensed, riveted to the point of some wild, insurmountable urge that would not allow for even a moment of peace. There would be none of his stolen slumber tonight, only an agonizing bout of insomnia, soaked in a savagery he could not name. It stuck between the cracks of his heart and mind, the spaces between sanity and the other side, which always beckoned, which knew _his_ name all too well. Like gristle preventing a successful digestion of ideas, a bright, bold vigor had awakened, and would not let him go.

Will couldn’t identify it using any of the normal terms for feeling; it was closest to anger, so he felt he should call it that. He knew who made him angriest, so he tossed the covers off, threw on jeans, slapped his glasses on his nose, shoved his feet into socks and shoes. Left food and water for the dogs and stormed out to the car, uncaring of the fierce chill in the air and the insubstantial cover of his wool coat given that he hadn’t warmed his vehicle up. He’d be lucky if the car didn’t break down en route to his righteous vengeance, but dammit, he could not wait another moment. His rage would brook no patience; this time, he was going to make Hannibal sorry for ruining his life to the point that even now, weeks after getting out of the BSHCI, he _still_ came across nights where attempts at sleep were met with a harsh slam of a door in his face, the unconscious realm unreachable. 

He couldn’t stand being left alone with his thoughts. If it went on for too long, he might actually have to _think_ them.

It was freezing fucking cold in the car. He sniffed against it, fingers like ice gripped around the steering wheel, eyes like glossy, unforgiving blue glass, reflecting nothing but hatred for the man he was charging into the ruthless night to find and hold accountable. 

It was Hannibal’s fault he was this, violently charged with hate, riddled with it like a disease. Before Hannibal came, everything was fine. It was painfully banal, but it was fucking _fine._ He never asked to be special, to be chosen as a victim on some sacrificial altar of the gloriously insane. To be betrayed so profoundly that the reversal of fortune colored his entire emotional outlook, twisting him into something demonic and strange to himself, detached and capable of organizing a homicide by proxy. He refused to feel shame, because none of it was his fault. Switching the heat on full blast, he stayed just barely on the right side of the speed limit, driving for Baltimore as if his life hung in the balance.

But it was more than his own life Will was fighting for. If it was just that, he might let go into the madness. Others might be hurt if Will took the safety off his long-bridled impulses towards ferocity. He couldn’t know who he would be if he flew off the handle, where he would spiral and whose blood he would spill in the first nasty flush of his afterbirth.

This had to end. He would reclaim his chosen identity as a savior, not a sinner. He would ring Hannibal’s doorbell, and when the man answered he would punch him square in the jaw and tell him never to call him again. Never speak to him, never write. He would kick him to the floor and make him swear not to kill again, or else Will would -- would, well what would he do? Jack would have his nonexistent badge for kicking Hannibal’s ass, and he wasn’t going to buy Will’s explanation that it _was_ self-defense, the only version of it he had left. Hannibal had to be driven into submission, made to see that his reign of obnoxiously well-organized mayhem must end, and if Will couldn’t play on his therapist’s fondness of him to achieve the goal, what could he do? Continue the charade of friendship as they had been? Try and catch Hannibal so Jack could reel him in? 

He’d been committed to the cause, but it had stolen his ability to sleep, and if he couldn’t sleep, he couldn’t function. Then he was no good to anyone.

_Maybe that’s all you are, anyway. No damn good for anyone, even the people you try to save._

There was no way to find out until Hannibal was firmly out of play.

Will lurched from the car and slammed the door shut, finding that every act of aggression felt damn good, letting off small quantities of his bottled suffering and wrath, letting it be loud and even immature, far over the line of ill-advised.

He mashed his finger into the doorbell, being extra rude about it, ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong, enough to thoroughly irritate anyone suddenly awakened from a nice, heavy 1am slumber.

Hannibal pulled the door open looking achingly vulnerable. Clad in a maroon robe, black pajama pants and grey slippers, with his face softly confused and his hair gently falling over one eye, he blinked in surprise at Will.

Here it was, the perfect moment. He was so open and defenseless for some goddamned reason; maybe he just slept really profoundly and Will had finally pinpointed a previously unimagined weakness. In any case, Hannibal didn’t look like he was in any shape to put up a fight. Will’s knuckles tightened as his jaw twitched, eyes flashing silent, smoldering frustration.

“Will?” Hannibal’s hand lifted slowly, as if he thought to reach out to him, but then reconsidered. He lowered his fingers, handsome face drawn tight with concern and perplexity. “What brings you here in the dead of night? I should have thought I’d be the last one whose door you’d darken if you fell victim to more nightmares.”

The joke was half-hearted, an attempt to break ice that would never thaw. Neither of them even smiled. 

_You’re the nightmare,_ Will wanted to say, wanted to scream. He’d get the cord from Hannibal’s robe, wind it tight around his neck and choke him near to blackout, looming over him with merciless fervor. _“Don’t you ever hurt anyone again,”_ he’d order, and Hannibal would simply agree, would be so weak, so...so weak for Will. Compliant. Will remembered how it felt to be weak and compliant, to melt into Hannibal’s care like sinking naked into a hot, skin-soothing bath with complete trust in the exposure, the envelopment. He missed it. He missed his shadow, his conniving, unforgivable friend. Closer than close. More, if he was going to lose himself far enough into this thought process to quote Emily Bronte. More himself than he was. 

He thought of the rough choke marks of the robe belt leaving Hannibal’s neck ringed, raw and red, and he realized he wished it was him being wonderfully hurt and claimed, under Hannibal’s control again. 

Why was he here?

“Will?” Hannibal asked, his voice delicate and distant, barely breaking through the mess of Will’s mind. “Why are you here?”

_To punch you in the face, to kick you to a pulp, to wring your neck._

Will stepped up and seized Hannibal's face in both hands as he kissed his mouth, rough and quick, too hard, ending in a bite to Hannibal’s bottom lip that made the other man seem to suddenly realize this kiss was really happening. Hannibal’s hands came up to Will’s elbows and he gasped, licking his bloodied lip when Will drew back again. Those big, lonely brown eyes were going to devour him, Will realized, painted blatantly as they were in hurt and yearning. Not physical hurt, but the pang of a want so strong it overwhelmed the ego, the capacity for self-preservation, all sense of former creature comfort or smugness. He tasted it on his own tongue along with the coppery tang of Hannibal’s blood, and he craved _more_.

Hannibal stepped back and Will stepped forward, then closed the door behind them, backing Hannibal into it, getting a leg tight between his enemy’s and pinning one wrist to the door. 

“W--” Hannibal started to say, but Will used his free hand to cover his mouth.

Will shook his head definitively, praying Hannibal understood, begging him silently with his own enormous, lust-drenched, needy eyes. _No words. No words for this._

He pulled his hand from Hannibal’s mouth and the other man nodded, swallowing past a lump in his throat. Will yanked his robe loose and saw the hard line of Hannibal’s erection laying just below the thin fabric of his pajama pants. He leaned in and licked the long line of rough stitches on Hannibal’s wrist, savoring the evidence that he had scarred him forever on the outside, at least.

Hannibal threw his head back with a deep moan, like a wolf howling at the moon, and Will was undone by the sudden fact of his shamelessness. 

He took a deep breath, and like a choreographer going on instinct alone, he put his hands on Hannibal’s waist, guiding him around until their positions were reversed. Again, Hannibal read his intention and slammed Will’s wrists against the door beside his head, then claimed his lips in a long, bruising kiss. When they drew back regretfully and only to breathe, Will stretched his neck, pinned in place as a prisoner on a rack of his own making, and Hannibal nosed along it with delirious fixation on Will’s scent and feel. 

He lapped at Will’s skin in a wolfish manner incomparable to anything human, despite his susceptible attitude, and there could be no doubt from his feral licking, biting and sucking that he was an even insatiable cannibal. The taste of Will’s flesh drove him steadily crazier, until he growled, then released Will’s wrists to let his robe fall from his shoulders in a deceptively elegant pool of royal maroon on the floor. There would be nothing refined about this, Will knew. There would only be soul-consuming hedonism, the pursuit of devastating wiles and whims he didn’t understand were living and thriving inside him until Hannibal opened the door mere minutes earlier.

Hannibal knelt and unbuttoned Will’s jeans, then tugged them down as Will stroked through his hair, the gesture bringing him a keen new sense of belonging, as if he was petting a beloved beast, telling him wordlessly he was doing well, and he should continue. As if Hannibal was his very good boy, but there was also nothing good about this, nowhere this would lead but disaster, myriad possibilities of woe which at this split second interval were worthless in consequence compared with the bliss of letting Hannibal have him.

Words were forbidden, but sighs and moans were inevitable, and Will fell prey to both as much as to the expert touch of Hannibal’s fingers, softly running over his dick until it filled with complete obedience, taut and heavy. He jerked Will gently, then licked up and down his length, letting his saliva coat him before blowing on the wetness he had left on Will’s aching flesh. Will’s head hit the door and he almost screamed, knees buckling. Hannibal looked up with a heartfelt smile, transparently pleased to have pleased him, and something tugged in his heart, something Will didn’t want to feel. 

He felt it again, the envelopment of Hannibal’s affection, the temptation of letting Hannibal take control and fuck him up, the pleasure of that. How could he resist, how had he _ever_ been so damn good at resisting this?

Hannibal sucked at his tip, carefully cupping his balls, guessing just how much pressure would be good, learning and teasing out Will’s comfort levels and limits, absorbing with adept enthusiasm the things that made Will pull on his hair and sputter out reckless grunts.

Will’s sweaty palms were planted to the door as his hips shoved forward almost of their own volition, pushing into the sweet, hot tightness of Hannibal’s mouth, over his silky tongue to touch his throat, and Hannibal stayed still, sucking his cheeks tight, his only movement to caress Will’s ass, fingers traipsing lazily over his warm, smooth skin until the burst of cum filled his mouth and Hannibal squeezed Will’s behind, keeping his cock warm and loved while the spasms went on, not sucking again to take the oversensitive moment too far, no, just making it _perfect_ , beyond anything Will had felt during sex with any-damn-one. He could count his previous partners on one hand, but still, already, none of them deserved to be mentioned in the same sentence with Hannibal. 

“Huhhhh,” Will heaved in a ragged breath, half falling against Hannibal, who stood just in time to catch him, then tucked Will’s face safely into his chest, humming in a vibration Will could feel against his ear.

Will got himself back together, as much as he was going to, at least, a few restoring breaths to remember where he was and what was happening, anything past the blinding, white-hot pulsation of pleasure. He bit Hannibal’s bare, hairy, delicious chest, then nuzzled lower to lick a nipple until it pebbled under his tongue and Hannibal groaned. 

Will was lifted up in strong, warm arms, and he wrapped his limbs around Hannibal, allowing himself to be carried off like the heroine in a monster movie, forever changed by the poignancy of loving a beast. He found himself beneath Hannibal in a sea of silk sheets, and at some point his glasses were removed, Hannibal surprising him with a brief, playful kiss to his nose that made the pain in his heart return, though he still refused to face it. At some point, he was stripped of his henley and touched, licked and teased to Hannibal’s heart’s content while he reached for any part of Hannibal he could find, just a quick brush across smooth, lovely silver locks, just a quick answering bite around his fingers when he traced full, indefatigable lips. 

Hannibal swirled his wicked tongue around Will’s nipples and nibbled at them until a throbbing ache exuded through Will’s body, taking him over, skin, bone, muscle, every nerve ending...there was no escape from it. He whimpered, and Hannibal took mercy on him, smoothing his touch over his biceps, big fingers trailing down Will’s forearms, just a few more incidents of irresistible exploration, suggesting these were all the places on Will’s body he’d thought of touching or kissing since the feelings between them began. 

“O-ohhh,” Will sighed, the sound dragged out of him as Hannibal bit the sensitive skin covering his hips, then licked deep into the hollow beneath each. His tongue sank into Will’s belly button, uncovering new sensation, equally so when he bit, tiny sharp nips, in a line across Will’s low abdomen, making his way lower with that same mind-blowing slowness that left Will quivering.

“W--” Will forgot he wasn’t going to talk. But he wanted to say, _Wait, I haven’t done anything for you._ He should go down on Hannibal, surely, after all this attention. He wanted to taste him, draw out his pleasure. He could wait for his own recurrence of it, but Hannibal smiled, then rested a finger on Will’s lips to hush him. 

“B--” Will’s aborted objection cut off into a burst of shock and bliss when Hannibal ended his tantalizing discovery of every other inch of Will’s body and lifted his thighs, encouraging Will to roll his hips up. A roil of excitement took him over at the suggestion when Hannibal arranged a pillow under his bottom, but he was only expecting lube, then fingers, and hopefully, God, yes, hopefully more.

There was lube, of course, procured matter-of-factly from the bedside table drawer as Hannibal glanced back at Will with hooded eyes and absolutely no mask, no armor. Admiration verging on disbelief, as he gazed at Will’s trembling form in his bed, the mess of Will’s rumpled curls, the sight of him positioned for the taking. But there was also Hannibal’s tongue again, this time circling his hole, causing a shiver of surprise and anticipation to run through him like a blade. He should have told Hannibal he’d never been with a man before, that he was probably going to be bad at this, at first, confused in his reactions, disorganized and needing a lot of guidance.

Will’s body tensed up, muscles contracting, and Hannibal rubbed his hands over Will’s ass with mute understanding, then proceeded to press sweet, soft kisses all over his bottom as if he was in love, certainly as if this was an encounter filled with romance and a desire to please Will that was again, almost _cute_. He shouldn’t let the feeling in, but it comforted him, and he relaxed when Hannibal continued slyly prodding his entrance with his wet, velvety tongue. 

He’d never felt anything like this; even his darkest, most profane fantasies hadn’t come close, smothered as they were with resentful moans into his pillow when he touched himself imagining it was Hannibal but never admitting this consciously. The smooth, hot, slick pressure poking inside him, making his nails dig into his shaking legs as he tried to hold them still, and then the firm, but very gradual, tender press of Hannibal’s finger inside him. Most of all, the low, savoring sounds Hannibal kept making, as if this was just as enjoyable as being pleasured himself, the chance to have his mouth and his hands all over a naked Will. 

Will heard himself emitting high-pitched mewls, the sort of sounds that translated rather unmistakably into “More, please-- _please_ ,” “God I need you,” and plenty of other things he was never going to let himself say out loud. He tried to bite his lip to stave off the cries but then Hannibal had two fingers delving so deep and slick, thrusting with a calculated press upward to nudge his prostate. Will’s toes curled and he said, in spite of himself, harshly, “ _Hannibal._ ”

After all, maybe that was the only word for what was happening, as far as Will was concerned.

Hannibal kissed the backs of his thighs and opened him more with three fingers pushing rougher, drawing out frantic moans, because Hannibal’s hands were so beautiful, lined with veins, rendered powerful and dangerous by his proclivities, and Will had wanted to feel this so desperately. There was only one thing he wanted more.

Trapped on the bed beneath Hannibal’s weight and the long, languid draw of his lover’s rigid cock against him, gliding over his belly, down to his thigh, against his own once-again hard dick, Will gave himself up to the sacrifice, the devouring, the darkness. The knowledge that there was no turning back. Hannibal kissed his mouth as if he was drowning and Will was his only source of oxygen, again and again with his lips searing hot, his tongue, flavored in Will’s arousal, tangling euphorically with his own, blocking out all the light, even the memory of needing light.

Will almost giggled, half-shyly, half-incredulously, at the amount of lube Hannibal drizzled between them, then used to slick up his cock and ready Will’s hole yet more. Surely that was overkill. But then Hannibal’s gold-flecked amber eyes caught his own in a pleading stare and Will nodded, and Hannibal pressed in, and Will felt it in a gasping shove of the breath from his lungs, how big Hannibal was, how tight his body and how much it would have hurt without all the foreplay and lubrication. He’d been appreciating the glorious sight of Hannibal’s uncut, thick cock since their clothes came off, but without appreciating that this was really, really going to burn. 

The burn made him clutch Hannibal’s back, scratching as he tried to grab tighter for stability, and Hannibal stopped while halfway inside him, breathing hard, golden eyes shot through with pleasure, but he waited until Will indicated he should keep going.

At that, Will wrapped his arms and legs around Hannibal as snugly as he could, angling his lower body up, scratching Hannibal’s back harder as the older man sank deeper into his tight walls. His lover was human again, sweaty and hot and heavy above him, smelling of juniper, thyme and cloves. Will thought absently this must be the scent of Hannibal’s bath soap, as it certainly wasn’t the heady, manly spice of his usual cologne. This was even better because it was more personal. Then Hannibal picked up the pace of his thrusting and Will lost track of how to form thoughts at all.

In the dreams he tried to forget and the visions he failed to fully stifle, they changed positions multiple times, rolling around in bed with effortless grace, but he could already tell they weren’t going to get any more creative than this for the first time. Hannibal simply wasn’t going to make it. This shouldn’t have been endearing after the countless crimes and manipulations that this man had used to wreak havoc on Will’s life and destroy so many others. But it was so endearing that all of a sudden Will could have cried. 

“Huhhh--- _Ahhh_ ,” he grunted and whimpered out as Hannibal fucked him with long, firm, deep strokes of his immense-feeling cock, sending shockwaves of joy through him with every targeted press to his prostate. 

Will shouldn’t have been this blown away; he’d watched enough gay porn to know perfectly well he was more than bi-curious, and he knew the mechanics, even if he’d only seen them before when accompanied by overdramatic acting and silly concocted scenarios of pizza boys and student-teacher and...Jesus, he hadn’t known a damn thing. Or maybe he just didn’t know how sex felt, period, when it was laced all through with this drugged feeling of suffocating desire.

Hannibal built up the rhythm, and Will could _feel_ him trying to make this good, denying himself the easy, quick orgasm despite the fact that he was crying out in guttural tones against Will’s shoulder, trembling from the work of holding himself back to prolong the encounter.

Will’s heart squeezed hard and he took Hannibal’s face in his hands, meeting his glazed, lost-looking eyes with an inviting smile. He nodded, and Hannibal snapped his hips much more aggressively, the push of him inside Will so brutally hard and deep that they both moaned out loud, uncontrollable strings of swear words. Will didn’t even know what half of Hannibal’s exclamations were, only that the foreign words were gorgeous-sounding, slurred not by alcohol but by painfully acute euphoria. 

After that, Hannibal let go of his last remnant of reserve, riding Will with passionate greed until his kisses into Will’s neck turned into a series of fast, piercing bites. Beyond the twinge of strangely lovely pain from the wounds came a stranger feeling still, the newness of Hannibal’s cum spilling inside him. It was so warm, and so copious, as Hannibal spasmed against him, kissing all over his face in delirium, and Will’s scratching and clinging changed into massaging over Hannibal’s broad back, helping him come back down.

His own cock was twitching, caught between their bodies as Hannibal panted against his chest, barely holding himself up from collapsing fully into Will and crushing him. Will wanted to be crushed in that moment, rather than return to reality, but instead what he got was Hannibal’s mouth on him again, against all reason. 

“Y--” Will wanted to say, “ _You don’t have to,_ ” because he knew Hannibal must be bone tired by now, but Hannibal only looked up at him to shake his head with a very serious look, one Will had never seen before and even with his considerable empathy struggled to identify. It silenced Will immediately.

Then Hannibal took him back inside the excruciatingly fucking good, hot squeeze of his mouth, alternating his sucking with indulgent stroking over Will’s cock, until he was swallowing down the essence of Will’s complete surrender for the second time, wild for it, squeezing Will’s thighs possessively and licking his lips when he was done, again the animal, just as open and needy as the man. Will had come with a single, sharp gasp, feeling the bliss being drawn out of him past where he should be able to feel pleasure, stronger than it should possibly be after all that they had already done to each other that night. 

Hannibal smiled and snuggled against him, holding onto Will as if they were longtime lovers and he depended on these post-coital embraces as much as the sex, to let him know Will was real, to help him feel anchored and treasured and all the things Will couldn’t give him. He had to get away.

“No,” he said simply, wriggling out of Hannibal’s grasp. 

Hannibal sent him only one look of disappointment, as if Will had just punched him in the stomach instead of removed himself from an impossible situation, hugging a naked serial killer as if this was about roses and chocolates and a future together. 

Will knew he should have been furious, because Hannibal killed Beverly. Hannibal killed Abigail. He let Will take the blame, he set everything up for that express purpose and Will had to bring him down, he had to hate him, he couldn’t forgive or he would be lost. How dare Hannibal treat Will as if he was the one causing the need for separation?

Again, as if Hannibal was his pet or his servant, beloved but intolerably mischievous, he shook his head. “No.”

Will found a pair of plain sweatpants and a long-sleeved thermal t-shirt in Hannibal’s dresser, which he imagined he probably might find, since even suit-loving cannibals got cold sometimes, and he put them on with haphazard desperation to get the hell out of there. Maybe things would make sense again on the road, or back home. The problem was, his legs were still pleasure-buzzy and heavy, hard to move, and he wanted back in bed with Hannibal, nuzzling and kissing and rubbing all over him, speaking, worst of all. Talking this out. 

_No._

As he dressed, he suddenly felt a whoosh of air from the sheets being tossed aside and Hannibal’s legs quickly leaving the bed, followed by the closing -- not the slamming, but the calm closing -- of the bathroom door. Then the shower starting up. His cue to leave without further inconvenience from anything Hannibal might do to prevent it.

Will stared at the bathroom door and thought about opening it, stripping down, and surprising a smile back onto Hannibal’s face as he stepped into the shower with him. He’d wind his arms around Hannibal’s neck and they’d sway in a slow dance to music no one else could hear.

He forced his feet to walk away, down the short series of stairs to the first floor, outside and into the merciless freeze of the eeriest, most unforgettable night he could ever remember having.

It was time to go home, back to normal life, back to plotting against Hannibal. He got into the car and begged himself to be reasonable, begged God for a miracle. The miracle would be that this night had gotten the need for Hannibal out of his system, like combating a hangover with a hair of the dog that bit him. 

But Will didn’t think he’d ever had a hangover quite like this before.


	2. Chapter 2

_We were so soft to the touch and so deep in this love  
Did we want way too much, more than we could ever give up  
Still I'm drenched in your sweat and the scent of our sex  
And the next thing I know I know I know I know it all goes  
Royal blue, and I'm getting it all over you_  
-Dragonette

Will showed up at his next therapy appointment exactly as if none of it had happened. No stolen night of raunchy heat, no stabs of longing to resume it, nothing personal between them but the ghosts of friendship past. He didn’t even dress up this time, as he’d gotten into the habit of doing lately. Instead, he presented himself in a resumed armor of flannel, greeting Hannibal with a sarcastic smile which served as a veiled threat.

“Will, you’re right on time,” Hannibal remarked with restrained cordiality, following his lead. “Please, do come in.”

Hannibal didn’t seem bothered. He didn’t clutch his own knee during their conversations about Will’s mental state; he didn’t shoot Will any desperate gazes or glares of accusation. He was Hannibal as the world knew him: perfectly calm and composed. Will hated it. He had half-hoped for some small sign that Hannibal was dying inside as much as he was, but he didn’t get it. He tried to tell himself he was relieved. They were going to pretend it never happened, just as he’d wanted.

***

Will woke up to a knock on his door late that night, and found Hannibal standing outside, eyes boring into him with all the anger and lust which Will had wanted at their appointment. 

He dragged Hannibal inside by his shirtfront and they fucked through the rest of the waning night until sunrise, with new positions this time. Will found out what it was like to be roughly pushed down on his stomach, flat to the bed with Hannibal in him so deep he felt a twinge of it in his low belly. He learned to his surprise that he loved to be spanked, very hard, as an accompaniment to Hannibal taking him while he was up on hands and knees, and to his greater astonishment that this particular combination of pleasure and pain was quite enough to make him come untouched all over the bed, sputtering out Hannibal’s name, the only word, aside from breathless moans and more swears, which he uttered during the whole time they were together. 

He learned how to lower himself onto the rigid pole of Hannibal’s hardness and ride his lover until Hannibal grabbed his chin hard between two fingers and slapped his face with the other hand, coming in a sticky burst of semen that dripped from Will afterwards. He learned to stop blushing at the obsession of some of Hannibal’s gestures, such as pumping the cum back inside Will and licking his fingers afterwards to taste the two of them together. 

Will was learning to be an expert at shutting off his thoughts, a skill he’d never dared to hope he might one day acquire.

The following morning, when he woke up alone, he noticed two things. Firstly, that he’d literally been so knocked out by sex that he’d fallen into a dead sleep without even realizing it, during which time Hannibal had disappeared. Secondly, that before leaving, Hannibal had covered him up with the blanket, refilled the dogs’ water bowls, made coffee, and left a single rose for him on the countertop in the kitchen. Where the fuck had he...he must have had the rose in his car and saved it for when Will was asleep and couldn’t refuse it.

Will stood in the kitchen rubbing his sleepy eyes, aghast and offended. “That _bastard_!”

***

“How are you, Will?” Hannibal asked lightly at their next appointment. 

He wore his plaid suit like a far better suit of armor than Will’s flannel had ever been, or so it seemed to Will, anyway. It appeared that his enemy and secret lover was far better than he at the dangerous game which had been Will’s stupid idea in the first place. It really was horrifying, in this quietly insidious way that set him on edge.

“I’m fine,” he replied through gritted teeth. “How are you?”

“Oh,” Hannibal answered, “Fine.”

Will walked around Hannibal’s office as he usually did, dropping his coat on the couch, then trailing his hands all over Hannibal’s things, the items of decoration that defined his chosen aesthetic and his safe space of composure. He marked them again with thoughtless insistence, as always: the chairs, the ladder, the bookshelves, Hannibal’s desk. He sank into Hannibal’s chair and thumbed through the other man’s planner, knowing equally that he was being rude, that he would be allowed the rudeness, and that anyway, Hannibal would never leave it out like this if he minded Will looking.

Hannibal was very occupied in procuring them both a glass of the pink wine which Will had admitted to liking in the past, and then he was very focused on carrying it over with methodical slowness. It was all enough to suggest he was waiting for Will to finish looking at the planner.

“You’ve crossed out all your dates with Alana,” Will noted, looking up with an irrepressible gleam of curiosity. He took the wine from Hannibal as their fingers brushed, sending heat up his neck, and then he did his best not to gulp the whole delicious glass of alcohol down in one go.

“You noticed,” said Hannibal nonchalantly, sitting in the chair that should have been Will’s, no acknowledgement of the reversal of power inherent in the seating arrangement, Will’s attempt to shift the tide of domination between them. 

Yes, yet another failed attempt to meddle with Hannibal’s fucking _perfect_ grasp of control on him. It almost defied belief. 

“Well, you don’t have to do that, you know. Because it doesn’t bother me if you keep seeing her.” Looking down, all Will saw was the waning amount of wine in his glass and his own pathetic pout looking back up at him like a fool.

“I can’t imagine why it would,” Hannibal resumed, sitting back with his legs crossed, drinking his wine like he was setting sail on a luxurious yacht for a tour of victory over Will’s denial of what was going on between them. “I ended the amorous side of my relationship with Alana because it no longer held my interest. It certainly has nothing to do with you, and it is rather inappropriate of you to suggest otherwise, given our patient-doctor relationship. Perhaps we need to have a conversation about boundaries, Will.”

“I!” Will had no idea what the fuck he was saying, but he was standing up, pointing a finger at Hannibal in indignation. He huffed a sigh and collapsed back into his chair with a resentful “Never mind. No, we don’t need to have a conversation about _boundaries_. I really couldn’t care less who you see.”

***

That night at Will's house, he let Hannibal tie up his wrists and ankles, then edge him half out of his mind, first stroking his naked body with a feather, and later rimming and fucking him for what seemed like hours without ever letting him come. Finally, Will got so close, only to lose the sensation, that he burst into tears which Hannibal kissed away, sliding a long, slender dildo into Will alongside his cock and finally granting his permission, in a silent nod, for Will to let go. He licked up every drop of Will’s release, then humped him with outrageous, sloppy urgency until he orgasmed, whimpering Will’s name, kissing across his chest in countless tiny butterfly flutters that made Will feel it again: the shift of power. 

Hannibal was so in love, gently unfurling his aftercare with more tender kisses, untying Will and massaging away the aches and pains from being bound. He bathed Will with a fancy new bubble bath he’d brought over, then tucked him into bed and pressed a last kiss to his forehead before he disappeared again, knowing that this, too, was what Will needed, as much as the sex and the elaborate coddling. 

If Hannibal stayed, Will would never want to be alone again, alone with his slowly dwindling conscience and his last throes of defiant righteousness. He kept telling himself each time that the next rendezvous would be different; he would tire of the wrongness of it, he would be strong and slam the door in Hannibal’s face. Instead, every night they shared brought them closer, blurring the lines between them. 

Why was Hannibal _allowing_ this? Why did he treat Will with such reverence, never with suspicion or accusation that the profiler was luring him into a trap using the oldest trick in the book, playing on his emotions? It was a huge show of faith, but ill-advised faith. This was Hannibal’s weakness, his desire to believe Will loved him, too.

Will was coldly comforted by the realization that he had just as much power in this relationship as Hannibal did. But the more sobering fact of the matter was that no one was in control here. He had absolutely no idea where this was taking them, and he couldn’t possibly let go now.

***

The next time he showed up at Hannibal’s under cover of night, Will was in for another surprise. As usual, they stripped naked and fell into bed, feverishly kissing and groping each other as if they had never done this before and the chance to do so might be taken away at any moment.

But then Hannibal lay on his back and passed the jar of lube to Will with that look on his face he got when he wanted to introduce yet another new dimension to their sex life. It was an expression of openness and excitement that sent a little jump into Will’s pulse, an answering jolt of pleasure making him harder. 

Will raised his brows as if to say, “really? Are you sure?” What if he wasn’t any good at this? But at the sight of Hannibal laid out nude and breathless at the mere thought of being fucked by him, Will realized that Hannibal didn’t care if he was amazingly great at it right off the bat or if he was clumsy and came two seconds in. He just wanted Will.

So he smiled and did his best to imitate the things Hannibal did to make him sigh in enjoyment and relax his body for the taking. He flicked his tongue over the tight ring of muscle that was Hannibal’s hole, soon becoming high on the sounds of his lover’s husky moans, so much so that this seemed easy, to lap with his softly wet, broad tongue, then to prod gently inside with the tip. Between the taste and the sounds he drew from Hannibal, rich with musky desire, and the way the body beneath him opened so willingly, he was on fire himself, rock hard and dying to be seated deep inside the older man.

He finger-fucked Hannibal while sucking ravenously at his delectably solid, girthy cock, and then he licked a broad stripe all the way up his belly and chest, through beautiful patches of silvery fur and over sweat-sleek skin to take what was his. Will loved the way their two bodies felt like this, with him on top, chest to chest with the soft heat of Hannibal’s stomach pressed to his own, their cocks nudged together and sending blissful tingles through him. Like all their other trysts, this night would be indelibly marked in his memory, and the memory was the only thing about them that they could both keep. In that, and perhaps only that, Will’s inability to ever shake it off, Hannibal was victorious.

“Oh, _God_ ,” Will gasped when he slid inside Hannibal and was immediately overwhelmed by the sensation. So tight, so smooth and good, how the hell did Hannibal hold back as long as he did when fucking Will? If it felt anything like this…

Hannibal looked up at him with a big, goofy smile. His eyes sparkled, gold-dusted amber in the low lamp glow cast over the bed, but even so, his hands were tense and tight on Will’s back, holding on for dear life.

Does it hurt? Will asked silently, brow furrowed. 

Hannibal nodded, still smiling. Then he grabbed Will’s ass and pushed him deeper, snaking his hips up to meet Will’s next thrust, and Will got the idea. He didn’t hold back anymore, fucking Hannibal soundly into the bed until the austere room was filled with the loud slapping sounds of skin-to-skin, air dense with the earthy smell of their joining and wordless cries of wonder.

Will came into him with a helpless cry of “Hannibal!”, amazed at the feeling of his seed filling his lover up, how complete it made him feel, how thrilling to claim and mark him in this way, make Hannibal truly his own. He pressed his forehead to Hannibal’s for a few short, stuttered breaths, then bit his way back down that gorgeous body and sucked him off, the other man’s hand heavy on his head, rifling through his soft curls and tugging hard.

They lay together for a while, as long as Will would let himself linger, letting the taste of Hannibal’s cum please his palate, letting Hannibal hold him tight. But then a glance at the clock on the table said ten minutes had gone by. He knew he had to force himself to go home, but just as he was about to extricate himself from Hannibal’s embrace, his lover reached over to the bedside table drawer and shot him a saucy smile.

Mutely, Hannibal sat up against the crooked pile of pillows in front of the headboard and opened the small, neat, leather-bound journal he’d taken out of the drawer. Will had noticed that there was a whole stack of them in there, doubtless reserved for various categories of Hannibal’s pretentious note-taking. However, curiosity once again made him weak enough to investigate the latest bit of nonsense.

Will sat up beside Hannibal and peered into the journal, where there was a list written out in small, elegant cursive. Who had handwriting like that, anyway? It more closely resembled calligraphy. His eyes narrowed and he let out a huff of indignation once he read the words that comprised the list:

_Oh, God -- x60  
Oh, my God -- x 33  
Jesus -- x24  
Jesus fucking Christ -- x10  
Please -- x 3  
Right there -- x1  
Don’t stop -- x 2  
Yes! -- x3  
_

It was a list of everything Will had actually _said_ during sex, all the times he’d lost control of himself enough that he forgot he was resigned to stay stubbornly silent. Hannibal continued to smile like the cat who got the cream as he crossed out the number beside the word _”Hannibal”_ on the page and changed it from “4” to “5.”

Will yanked the journal out of Hannibal’s hand and playfully bonked him on the head with it, then wrestled him down into the sheets. Hannibal kept trying to wrench the book back from him, so Will ticked his stomach, right above the V of his hips, where he knew Hannibal was the most sensitive. Hannibal melted into laughter and Will’s attempt to keep himself from doing the same only resulted in him snorting loudly. 

Hannibal managed to roll them over so he was on top, both of them still laughing riotously, tickling and pinching and kissing each other, random little pecks on their cheeks and necks or the corners of their mouths. Finally they ran out of energy for the fond battle and Will lay there prone, letting Hannibal dip his head to nuzzle their noses together. 

“I love you,” Hannibal murmured, his breath warm, his chest still heaving with the echoes of laughter, and something deeper. Nervousness, fear, and bravery beyond that.

Will’s heart lurched. Words of eager reciprocation died on his tongue when he thought of Abigail, of Beverly, of his ordeal under incarceration, of Hannibal gaslighting him and making him sicker while pretending to be his caring friend and confidant. 

What the hell was he _doing_? Why did he keep coming here, and letting Hannibal come to him? Even now, he knew he’d be back again soon enough, like a goddamned boomerang with Hannibal Lecter’s name on it.

He evaded Hannibal’s embrace, even though doing so made him feel ill. He climbed off the bed and handed him back the journal, along with the pen which had been lost among the sheets. 

“No,” Will snapped. 

Then he got dressed again and practically ran away before he could see the effect of the single syllable on Hannibal’s heartbreakingly beautiful face. For so many reasons, not all of them ones he understood, he hated himself more than ever, more than he could ever hate Hannibal.


	3. Chapter 3

_You love when I fall apart  
So you can put me together  
And throw me against the wall_  
\--Rihanna

Hannibal didn’t show up at Will's house on any of the nights during the following week, and at their sessions he kept his eyes fixed resolutely on any object or view that might be situated just slightly to the right or left of Will’s face. He asked polite, predictable questions and did not offer wine. When the session was over, he ushered Will out, then closed the door and locked it, a clear indication that Will was not welcome to stay there after hours.

At work, Jack and Alana continued to barrage Will with their highly inconvenient questions, like when was the long-game with Hannibal going to be over, and hadn’t he gathered enough evidence on the man by now? 

“If you can’t close this thing by next week, I’m closing it for you,” Jack threatened. “We can’t keep Freddie Lounds hidden for the foreseeable while you look for proof that maybe never even existed.”

Will slouched in his chair, letting Jack finish his rant about how he’d put his own ass on the line based on Will’s hunches and now it looked like a waste of their time and FBI resources. He had to admit, Jack was right. Will’s attitude towards the Ripper case had lapsed into an embarrassing lethargy. He was now pushed to the choice of either giving it up entirely, telling Jack he’d pointed his finger in the wrong direction after all, or buckling down and catching Hannibal for real, while he still had time.

***

Another few agonizingly lonely nights went by before Will finally broke. It was three am when he knocked on Hannibal’s door, probably looking like a drowned rat. He’d been caught out in the rain while pacing around the front yard trying to convince himself not to knock. 

Hannibal hesitated for a moment with a look of disdain when he saw Will standing there shivering, curls drenched and matted to his forehead, dripping into his eyes, clothes sealed to his body with heavy rainwater. Then he sighed and shook his head and let Will in. He brought him to the laundry room, where he peeled Will’s clothes off without the slightest intimation of sexual interest and squeezed them out over the sink with another look of wry annoyance. He tossed Will’s clothes into the washer, then took a large, fluffy towel out of the dryer and wrapped it around Will’s shoulders.

It was a big enough towel to almost serve as a robe, so it kept Will fairly warm while he padded barefoot after Hannibal into the kitchen. Hannibal took him by the shoulders and steered him into a seat at the center island, then put on a pot of tea. Will wasn’t normally a tea-drinker, but he liked the scent of warm apple and cinnamon which soon wafted through the air as Hannibal poured them each a steaming cup.

Sliding Will’s tea over to him, Hannibal glared again sternly, with the clear indication that Will was to drink up, lest he catch his death of cold after his shenanigans in the rainy, bitter-chilled night.

Will gave his cup a slightly suspicious look. What if Hannibal drugged or poisoned him? Hannibal did something he’d never seen him do before and rolled his eyes. He put the box of tea which he’d used on the counter in front of Will and pointed at it. 

_”Apple-cinnamon ooibos-chamomille blend,”_ not _“finally rid yourself of your bitter nemesis-slash-fuck-buddy blend.”_ Okay, fair enough.

Hannibal blew on his own tea and took a good, long sip, further proving that the beverage was innocuous. The stern look was bestowed again, and damn if it wasn’t making Will more than a little horny.

Will tried his tea and found that the taste reminded him of fresh-baked apple pie. It also warmed him up some more, the feeling of comfort spilling over his body and starting to edge out his last few shivers. He lifted the cup and nodded with a smile at Hannibal, which resulted in nothing more than an accusatory scowl.

After draining his cup, Will rounded the counter and peppered kisses into Hannibal’s neck that made the other man immediately tense up, making a weak show of trying to push Will’s hands away. 

If there was a way Will could say he was sorry, sorry he couldn’t love Hannibal back, sorry he’d accidentally stumbled onto something real between them and it scared him so badly that he had to keep running away from it, well, he wouldn’t have done so. To admit it would be the end of all his carefully guarded dignity and power in their dynamic, not to mention the last ragged shreds of his morality. Still, he wished there was something he could do to make up for hurting Hannibal’s feelings. In that moment, he didn’t need _his_ feelings about this to make sense. 

He backed up and waited for Hannibal’s eyes to follow him, as the rules of magnetism dictated they inevitably would, reluctantly or not. When he knew he had Hannibal’s attention, Will batted his long, dark lashes coquettishly and allowed one corner of the towel to slide down, baring his shoulder.

Hannibal’s lips parted, a sumptuous frame for pearly white fangs as his whiskey-hued gaze rolled over Will like a wave, landing on his blue eyes that beckoned in a dare, then the exposed swath of shoulder, Victorian and exacting in its impact. Will had never been like this before, playing with fire so boldly, almost diabolically intent on getting his man, but there again, Hannibal seemed to draw the provocative behavior from him naturally. It felt like Will was inhabiting a new skin, one made only for Hannibal to unzip.

Again, no words were needed to embody the conversation as Hannibal strode closer and pulled the towel off of Will altogether. They both watched it land on the floor as Will trembled and Hannibal slowly licked his lips, the gears twisting in his mind, the battle raging on between anger and desire. 

The hard, dark, wild look in his eyes said he was still hurting from the emotional wounds Will made himself inflict on them both. And he was endlessly frustrated because even now, there was no way he could resist his sweetest adversary.

The soft, wet, open-mouthed kisses on Will’s neck and shoulders said _I want you,_ and Will’s sighs in response, feathery-light as his fingertips on Hannibal’s back, echoed the sentiment, enough so that Hannibal’s hunger for affection was momentarily satiated.

But Hannibal had never known a truer hunger, and never a hunger that did not immediately beget wanton gluttony. His teeth, nipping at Will’s collarbone, said _Need me_ in no uncertain terms, and Will’s hand sliding into his robe to cup his pectoral said _Always. I can’t help it._ The way his fingers tugged at Hannibal’s chest hair and roughly tweaked his nipple said _And you know it_.

 _It isn’t enough,_ said their long, ravishing kiss, rampant with biting and sucking, then licking into each others’ mouths, Hannibal grasping through Will’s curls, Will pushing Hannibal’s pajama pants down, massaging over his ass, their mouths spicy and sweet together, _It’s never enough._

He’d lost track of who was saying what as their unspoken feelings blurred and merged, but it didn’t matter, not when Hannibal turned him around and leaned him over the counter, teeth leaving brisk, harsh marks all the way down Will’s back, sending electricity down his spine as he moaned into his hands. 

Hannibal bit him even harder on the back of his thigh and sucked the teeth tracks into a bruise which teemed with aching pleasure, and Will felt the word branding into his skin, _Mine_. He stroked Will’s bulging cock from behind while he licked at his hole, groaning in heated approval of Will’s shudders and the cries which grew somehow both weaker and louder. Then there was olive oil, glossy and fragrant on Hannibal’s fingers as he drove them into Will, free hand looped around his front to caress his chest and belly, _Mine._

Will moved his ass back to meet Hannibal’s quickening thrusts, mewling and slamming his hand down on the counter when a sudden orgasm resulted from Hannibal’s expert targeting of his prostate. Hannibal immediately replaced his fingers with his hot, rigid cock, slamming it in to the hilt and grabbing Will’s hips, making Will’s body scream out with overstimulated pleasure, an extended orgasm which seemed to blossom into Hannibal’s own. Just a few more barbaric smacks of Hannibal’s hips against him, and that bright, white eruption inside made Will shake and gasp. He could never get over the way it felt, the two of them as one, the loss of both their control, the beautiful, addictive sense of belonging and coming home.

Hannibal hugged him close afterwards, humming some mysterious, lost song of fairy tales past, rocking Will against him. Will could almost hear him saying, _That’s my good boy. You took your punishment so well._ The punishment was being faced with the way Hannibal loved him, with devastating intensity that could destroy them both. And Will wanted nothing more than to be made to endure it again and again, forever.

In another life, he might have whispered, _thank you, daddy,_ might have let himself feel safe, wrapped up in Hannibal, snug against the heat of his hair-roughened chest, locked into powerful arms that loved to break him only to put him back together.

But Will wasn’t a teacup, wasn’t Hannibal’s fantasy version of him, even if the fantasy was starting to feel more real than his supposed “real life.” It was like the difference between black-and-white and full, blazing color. 

Painfully resigned, he wrested his way out of Hannibal’s arms, pulling with him a sharp, pained, shapeless plea from Hannibal’s lips as the other man immediately gave chase, scooping him up by the time he reached the door between the kitchen and the hall to the bedroom.

“Mmm,” Hannibal insisted, shaking his head, “Mmm-mmm, mmm.” _Don’t go. Don’t leave me._

Will sighed heavily. _I have to. You know why._

Hannibal groaned and let go of him, then lifted one finger to indicate, _Wait there._

He came back, weirdly enough, with a large box of water crackers (the really nice kind, of course, with toasted sesame). After handing the box to a very bemused Will, he nodded to the bedroom to say Will should follow him.

Will stood in the doorway watching with utter bewilderment as Hannibal neatly turned down the covers on the side of the bed he didn’t sleep on, the one obviously intended to be Will’s. Then he led Will to the bed and patted the spot where he might sit, and Will burst into bright laughter as the message finally dawned on him.

_You can eat crackers in my bed anytime._

Hannibal grinned proudly, but Will shook his head. Hannibal frowned. Will mimed playing the world’s tiniest violin between two fingers. Sniffing pridefully, Hannibal shut the lamp off and got into bed alone, sullenly ending what seemed like their hundredth naked silent argument about Will staying the night (or what was left of it).

Of all the things that could ruin their forbidden affair, it looked like it wouldn’t be Will’s resolve to remain enemies, but rather Hannibal’s unexpectedly strong need to be cuddled after sex or to be allowed to voice his affection. These particular desires, while important to Hannibal, only represented a hint of the love that could take over their lives, blotting out the guilt and the emptiness forever, if Will would just give in.

Feeling once again like a complete jerk, despite the fact that he was a decent, law-abiding citizen and Hannibal a sadistic, cannibalistic murderer, Will stole another shirt and pair of sweatpants from Hannibal's drawer and went home heavy-hearted, absent-mindedly bringing the box of crackers with him.

***

Regret clung to Will afterwards, thick as oil on his new skin, an encasement holding him in where he no longer belonged. Everything in his soul screamed to break free, and everything in his heart yearned to be with Hannibal through all the nights and into morning, their limbs tangled, his face pressed where it belonged, against Hannibal’s chest with those warm, strong, incorrigibly clingy arms around him.

So he went to Hannibal the following night prepared to make some sort of concession, though he didn’t know what, anything to smooth things over until he could figure out what to do. However, it appeared that the grace period for his indecision had expired.

Hannibal opened the door with a cool, disinterested expression, looking so painfully debonair in his navy pajamas and silk robe, his hair of course doing that sleek, gorgeous slip down over his dignified brow. The moonlight glinted off of his severely refined cheekbones and Will’s heart leapt into his throat. He could have said anything just then, _I love you_ , or _save me from my own conscience_ , but Hannibal cut him off, answering merely in response to Will’s presence.

“No,” Hannibal said curtly, shutting the door in Will’s face.

He used to leave the outside lights on just in case Will came by, but tonight the front lawn and drive were almost pitch black. There was only the moonglow, cold as Hannibal’s eyes, to guide him back to his car and the dejected journey home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What an emotional tug of war! The resolution is coming soon, I promise. Also, the daddy kink crept in so organically that I decided to leave it. Thanks for reading and hope you enjoyed! 💕


	4. Chapter 4

_I speak to you in colors  
'Cause words are sharp and cut  
My lips will bleed  
Taste the iron on me  
I speak to you in shapes  
I'm fluent in this language  
We create  
Words we innovate_  
-Oh Land

Hannibal’s office was lavishly appointed as ever, the intellect’s dream with its meticulously organized library, eclectic decor, and the man himself sitting at his desk, sharp pencil hovering over drawing paper. He seemed to be just another piece of the flawless, yet subtly threatening environs, serenely incapable of losing his cool and entirely capable of snapping one’s neck without breaking a sweat.

Will had forgotten what keeping his cool even felt like.

Looking up from his latest sketch, Hannibal regarded Will as one would regard a grey rain cloud appearing in the sky over a picnic on a splendid spring day.

It suddenly struck Will that maybe this was easier for Hannibal, that his feelings for Will could be shucked off like an unwanted garment once Will proved a disappointment on enough occasions for the shine to wear off the idea of him. Maybe Hannibal had a faster emotional metabolism and could just move on, go back to murder dinner parties and find someone new to keep in his bed, someone more pliable, less complicated and demanding. Someone soft and sweet like Alana, not a would-be killer falling apart at the seams and lobbing hypocritical accusations at Hannibal when the real enemy seemed, clear as day by now, to be himself — his own faltering conscience, his own forbidden, forcibly suppressed needs, his cowardice and indecision. 

“Listen,” he said shakily, an inauspicious opening to what was doubtless going to be a rambling speech somewhere between confession and fence-mending, a speech whose contents would remain a mystery to him until he heard the words coming out of his own mouth.

“I could have written, but it seemed more respectful to let you know in person,” Hannibal cut him off crisply, rising only to pass him a piece of note-paper, “ _from the desk of Dr. Hannibal Lecter_ ”, then tiny calligraphy writing with some other goddamn psychiatrist’s name written underneath.

Will stared at the paper, aghast. Hannibal resumed his place behind his desk, pencil flitting over a gallery-worthy rendition of a Florentine chapel. 

Rubbing a hand over his sleep-deprived, sore eyes, setting his glasses crooked, Will blurted, “this is a referral to a new therapist.”

“Yes, I’ve done all that I could for you. And I believe you know your way out.” Hannibal kept his lovely caramel eyes fixed on his work, but the slight tightening of his fingers around the pencil spoke volumes.

It was obvious why Hannibal would be hurting and throwing up all these defences. After all, that was what Will was good at, right? Leaving him.

His heart sped up in panic, then plummeted. _No, come on…_

“I know it’s been... _difficult_ between us lately, but really, what did you expect, after everything?” Will didn’t mean the question to come out sounding quite so pleading.

“Sometimes a therapist and patient fail to find a productive path of communication,” Hannibal replied breezily, brushing pencil dust off the paper as if he had already half-checked out of the conversation. “I’m not sure what you mean by ‘difficult,’ but I’m sure Dr. Woodbridge can help you navigate a smoother path.”

“You’re impossible,” Will griped, pacing in a pointless circle. “You’ve ignored all my texts and calls, then you send me some enigmatic note to come here today and I thought maybe, finally, you _missed_ me.”

That got through. Hannibal glared right into his eyes, Satan incarnate. “I don’t miss my patients, Will; that would be unprofessional. I’m merely maintaining the boundaries which you yourself established, and which you are quite clearly given to tossing aside whenever it suits your own selfish agenda.”

“But I—“

“It doesn’t surprise me to see that like every other spoiled baby in recorded history, you throw a tantrum when you can’t get your way.” Hannibal stood and walked to the door, then opened it and glared even harder. 

“Just so you know, I wanna punch you in the smug face right now,” Will snarled, heading for the door, turning back when he got to the waiting room to add, “And you should also know that _that_ was not how I wanted it.”

Curiosity got the best of Hannibal enough that he asked icily, “Wanted _what_ , exactly?”

“It’s not how I wanted it, the first time you called me ‘baby.’” Will shook his head, averting his eyes as they filled with tears he refused to shed. He was being held together by nothing but pins, needles, and pride.

He stood for a few moments staring at the floor, wishing Hannibal would hug him and say everything would be alright again, somehow, it didn’t matter how, if they were together.

Instead, he heard the door click shut, which was probably a good thing, since his throat felt like it was closing and his eyes were now burning with unshed tears painfully held back. 

“Arrogant, cruel, unfeeling _bastard,_ ” he muttered rather absurdly to the door.

Just then, he heard Hannibal say darkly, emphatically under his breath, “intolerable little _brat_.”

Will’s heart sang. So, he’d gotten under his nemesis’ skin after all! He pressed his fingertips to the door, just to feel closer for a moment, and he could have sworn he heard the brief thud of an answering hand pressed to the other side.

Again, their own private language thrummed effortless and pure between them, insults betraying love, quiet fingers weaving ineffable yearning.

He’d chosen the wrong approach, but all hope was not lost. Crumpling the referral note and leaving it visibly on top of the nearest trash can, Will exited the building feeling rather smug himself.

***

Will spent a few hours at home going back and forth between fixing an old motor, tending to the dogs, and working on his list of potential solutions to The Hannibal Problem. Now he sat on the bed, legs stretched out in front of him as Buster poked his nosy little face under Will's arm trying to figure out what his master was up to.

“Nothing good,” said Will in response to the dog’s interest. He squinted down at the list in his messy printing across a legal pad:

_1\. Kill him. No one will blame me at this point._

_2\. Carefully continue gathering evidence by interviewing everyone he interacts with and finding enough clues to land a conviction_

_3\. Go see him and throw a bucket of cold water on him so he shuts up long enough to listen to me say I love him and I want us to be together for real_

Hmm. None of these were quite going to work. Absent-mindedly scratching behind Buster’s ears, Will’s eyes happened to randomly light on the box of water crackers still sitting on the kitchen counter. Now that he thought about it, those weren’t just crackers; with the amusing gesture, Hannibal had actually been trying to tell him something much deeper. Inspiration struck, and Will grinned down at his small, baffled dog in triumph. “That’s it!”

***

“Wait!” Will demanded, throwing a hand up to block Hannibal’s immediate attempt to unceremoniously bar him from the house. 

Will held up the box of crackers poised in his other hand, atop which he had placed a white flag made from a pencil and handkerchief. And he pouted.

Hannibal was taken aback by the time Will actually spoke, and by the time he took in the peace offering and Will’s shamelessly petulant expression, the very corners of his mouth began to subtly twitch. Not a smile, but the temptation of a smile: Will would take it. It was a start.

“Can I come in? Can we talk -- really talk?” 

“In my house, in the evening? A novel idea,” Hannibal retorted drily. But he stepped back, admitting Will with the same wary look in his eyes.

Instead of his usual late-night hour, Will had stopped by at 8pm, so that Hannibal was still in his plum-colored button-down and glossy paisley tie, with a snug black waistcoat serving to accentuate his beguiling physique. One sleeve was rolled up, distractingly showing off the ragged scars on his forearm, and Will’s mouth went dry. Somehow, the blatant fact of Hannibal’s ruthless beauty never stopped amazing him, ruining every trick he tried to pull, most especially due to the dark, volatile truth of the animal who Hannibal really was, rife with sharp tension seething just beneath the oh-so-very polished surface.

Perhaps he lingered too long in the front hall, staring after Hannibal’s trim waist and the alluring curves of his ass in the perfectly tailored black trousers, and perhaps he wasn’t paying quite enough attention to what else Hannibal did during his brief trip to the kitchen to put the crackers on the counter.

Because before he knew it, Hannibal snuck back in using the other entrance to the hall, which meant he had crept quickly through the dining room and study to make this stealth approach. Will didn’t have time to fully process the details, though, because he was immediately grabbed into a vice-grip headlock, pressed hard against Hannibal’s front as the doctor sank a long needle deep into his arm, left bare by his t-shirt. 

Will let out a breathy sigh, inevitably both frightened and aroused, but not angry. After all the times he’d drawn out his enemy’s vulnerability only to wound him, he was surprised it had taken this long for Hannibal to retaliate in kind. 

Hannibal purred into his ear, “There now, that’s being a good boy, Will. Just give that a minute.”

The world pivoted and blurred, and Will slumped against Hannibal, trying with a tongue too heavy and a mind too blundering to form important words, essential truths. All he got out was “ _H-h-haaaa_ ” and then the world went black altogether. 

He meant to say, _Do what you want with me, I don’t care anymore as long as it’s you doing it._ It was mildly comforting to consider that this time, it was Hannibal’s machinations and not his own stubbornness that ruined the chance for honesty between them.


	5. Chapter 5

_”Cause when you look like that  
I never ever wanted to be so bad  
And it drives me wild”_  
\--Troye Sivan

Will awoke blearily to find himself strapped to a chair at Hannibal’s dining room table with a bad case of stiff neck.

“I just wanted to talk; there was no need to go full Ripper on me,” he complained, noticing the slur in his voice, the sluggish difficulty of forming words.

Hannibal regarded him with a thin but resilient veneer of calm, hands clasped behind his back. “I assure you, Will, this is nowhere close to ‘full Ripper’ treatment.”

Will narrowed his eyes, challenging even now, when he was otherwise defenseless. “Don’t you think I deserve it?”

“I’m certain by now that I deserve to kill you, but at the moment I’m more curious as to what you deserve.”

“Judge, jury, and executi-on-er?” Will chuckled, feeling strangely drunk but clear in his thinking. His words were lucid despite the slow, awkward delivery. “Or do you really think you have to tie me down to make me stay?”

“I’ve administered a harmless truth serum,” Hannibal replied matter-of-factly. 

Will laughed hoarsely. “Is there anything more harmfuller than the unfiltered truth?”

Hannibal’s exquisitely composed demeanor thawed for exactly one beat as his eyes crinkled slightly.

“Harmful, I mean,” Will compensated, annoyed. Stupid drugs. Stupider cannibal.

“I wish to have a conversation in which you have no choice but to provide me full honesty. Recent events have made it all too obvious that I’m not cautious enough regarding danger where you are involved. Why should this be any different?”

Ridiculous as Hannibal was, it seemed pointless to even mention that he had Will strapped to a chair and obviously wasn’t _that_ open to danger.

“I guess it wasn’t honest enough when we were inside each other?” Will quipped instead. “All I know is, I liked it a lot better the last time you tied me up.”

“This won’t take long.” Hannibal’s smile was prim in a distinctly menacing way that should have Will on edge, but he felt relieved instead, because despite the fucked-up scenario, they were finally talking. And anyway, this was _Hannibal_. The chances of a non-fucked-up relationship discussion had been nil from the start. 

“Is it going to be nice to eat me? I mean, I’m assuming that’s the plan, after you interrogate me.”

If Will wasn’t mistaken, Hannibal was again tempted to roll his eyes. “I’ll ask the questions. Are you colluding with Jack Crawford to entrap me?”

Will tried to shrug, but he was bound too tightly to the chair to complete the movement. “I was. Lately I’ve loosened the reins enough that Jack’s about ready to call it a day. Lost the taste for revenge, I guess. Or I fucked it up when my little honeytrap routine turned out to be way too sincere.”

The truth serum was doing the trick, alright. Will was divulging his most embarrassing secrets with casual ease, wondering if later he would regret it or be grateful he stopped trying to slather cement over his honesty.

Hannibal straightened several of the other chairs around the table, all of which were already perfectly arranged and hardly in need of correction. Will smiled at his lover’s familiar little tics, the way he would fidget with random objects when nervous, although he never betrayed anxiety through his facial expressions, tone or word choice. 

“What was your intention the first night you came to me?”

“I was pissed off. Couldn’t sleep, blamed you. Seemed like a great idea to come over and beat some answers out of you. When I saw you, I just...couldn’t. Wanted other things. You made it all better, you’re so good at that. Then it kept coming back to haunt me, the lies you told, people you hurt, the questions I have that you’ve never answered. I was afraid of those answers. And I tried to stop the way I felt.”

“Will--” Hannibal looked worried all of a sudden, but a rush of anger and frustration sent Will off on a fresh tangent.

“You’re such a fucking sadist,” he accused. “We’re finally on the same page and even now you’d rather make me suffer than be weak for me.”

“You’re such a masochist, coming here when you know exactly what I am,” Hannibal retorted, meeting Will’s aggravated gaze with that same old sullen hunger.

“Yes, I do. I know who and what you are, and still, I _came_ here,” Will complained, “To tell you that I’m crazy about you. I fucking l--”

“Stop,” Hannibal interrupted, coming to him quickly and undoing his restraints. “Don’t say anything else. Come up to bed, it will take several hours for you to sleep off the drugs.”

“Whatever,” Will conceded, falling like a rag doll into Hannibal’s lovely, controlling embrace, feeling with guilty pleasure the usual rhythm of footfalls that led them to the bedroom when Hannibal carried him like this, the gesture saying he was Hannibal’s sweetheart, his treasured one, his baby.

“Sleep now, mylimasis,” Hannibal murmured as he arranged the blankets over Will’s body.

Will didn’t recognize the new pet name or insult or whatever the hell it was, but he made a mental note to ask about it later when he had the energy to do anything other than fall into a fathomless, dreamless sleep.

***

Will watched Hannibal watching him sleep for a few minutes, keeping his eyes just barely open to accomplish the rare task. Finally, Hannibal closed his book and shot him a wryly disapproving look. 

“I know you’re awake, Will.” He straightened pridefully in his chair beside the bed.

Despite the usual smugness, it was more than evident Hannibal had stopped his inquiry because he couldn’t stand to hear Will confess his feelings while under the influence of anything but his own desire to do so.

“You’re way too annoyingly cute for someone who drugged me and probably planned to eat my organs for dinner later,” Will grumbled, sitting up. “It’s completely unfair.”

“Life isn’t fair,” Hannibal allowed, repressing a smile at the backhanded compliment. “This, at least, we can agree on. Our relationship would seem the most potently eloquent embodiment of that well-worn phrase.”

“Jesus, I forgot how hard it is to have an actual conversation with you. And you know what else isn’t fair?” Will palmed the back of his neck, which was still aching. “I made that little white flag and everything, and that was cute, too. How come you get away with actual, literal murder by being cute, and I can’t even get a modicum of patience out of you?”

Hannibal sighed and came to him, massaging his neck until Will wanted to dissolve into hapless delight at his touch. God, when would he ever just get used to Hannibal’s hands on him and be strong? If the answer was never, he was utterly done for.

“You can get anything out of me that you want, Will, all too easily. That’s exactly what I’m afraid of.”

“You can be afraid with me, and I’ll take care of you. You can let me hold you through it, like you hold me when I’m a lost, disoriented disaster. Wouldn’t that be fair?”

“Reciprocity,” Hannibal mused. “The idea holds some appeal. But I’ve never let anyone see this side of me before, and--”

“And it would be easier to eat me than try having a real relationship?” Will asked, coaxing an exhausted, low groan from Hannibal.

“A real relationship would involve you staying the night instead of running away from me.”

“Do you want to hear what I came to tell you, or not?”

“I find that I don’t quite know how to…” Hannibal frowned, trailing off in an unheard of bout of inarticulacy. 

“That’s because you’re nervous. Why don’t I ask you some questions first instead, the questions I still have left? You can get back to cooking while we talk; it will make you more comfortable that way, right?”

Hannibal blinked at Will’s easily astute knowledge of his methods of dispelling anxiety. “How did you know I was cooking when you arrived? I hadn’t set anything on the stove yet, so there would have been no aroma.”

“Hannibal,” Will smirked, sliding out of bed and tugging at Hannibal’s one rolled up sleeve, which in his state of stress and distraction, the cannibal still hadn’t righted. “You may have a knack for throwing me off my game, but I’m still an FBI investigator.”

***

In the kitchen, Will wrapped Hannibal’s apron around his waist, Hannibal smiling slyly, brows lifting in curiosity at Will’s affectionately ritualistic emphasis on the act.

Will stood back and admired the way Hannibal looked with the neat white apron tucked around his waist over his sophisticated attire. “Yeah, I’ve got a thing about you in this apron. Someday, when we aren’t fighting, I want you to cook for me wearing _only_ this apron.”

Hannibal laughed softly and Will could have sworn he actually _blushed._ Then he got back to dicing vegetables for what looked like a homemade marinara sauce, a simple meal by his standards, but appropriate for such a moment of unexpectedly cozy domesticity between them. 

“Is that what we are doing? Fighting?”

“I think that’s almost all we ever do, but I’m hoping we can stop once we air out the rest of our problems.”

Hannibal tipped the tomatoes, onions and peppers into the saucepan and nodded, “You have questions.”

“Beverly,” Will said bluntly.

“An unplanned and regrettable necessity.” Hannibal turned the stove on and stirred the sauce. “She broke into my home, Will. Doubtless at your behest?”

“No, I told her not to go anywhere near you, but she was _smart_ and she was onto you, and she didn’t want to wait to gather evidence when we were so close to proving your guilt.”

“Ms. Katz was impulsive, but an undeniably brilliant agent,” Hannibal remarked, speaking of her with casual, passing, but sincere respect. “Perhaps most of all she was brave. I tried to pay tribute to her by making her corpse into a visual representation of her skillful analysis.”

“So, your line on Beverly is, it was you or her,” Will concluded. “Not anywhere near good enough, Hannibal. And what about Abigail?”

“Abigail,” said Hannibal shortly, seeming to mull over potential replies for a few beats as he scattered garlic and basil into the pan. “Is alive and well.”

“She’s _what?_ ” Will demanded, slack-jawed and wide-eyed. He couldn’t feel anything, even fury or joy, which would soon be battling for control of his emotions. There was only the shock, making him so dizzy he grabbed onto a nearby chair to keep upright.

Hannibal left the sauce to simmer and wrapped him up in a hug as Will banged his fists on his lover’s chest, tears streaking down his face and making his voice shake. “You let me think I killed her.”

“Yes. A temporary--”

“Fuck you.” Tears dribbled down Will’s nose as his body shook in confused tremors of horrified rage and insurmountable affection. “I hate you so much.”

“I know that, baby,” Hannibal answered, quiet and content to let Will rip him to shreds if that was what Will needed just then. “I know.”

“Worst of all is that this entire time, I’ve been telling myself I was an innocent. That you warped my mind and turned me into a killer for your own amusement, and that’s why I sent Matthew Brown after you.” Will clutched at Hannibal’s shirt, grabbing a tight fist of fabric. “But you always knew what was hidden inside me.”

“My only goal where you are concerned has always been to help you to relax, open you up to yourself so that you can breathe. You were so miserable when we met that I hated to see it, especially the more I came to care for you. Perhaps my methods were severe, even outlandishly so, and you’re right, I am a sadist. Your pain is delicious to me, but only when I inflict it out of love.” 

Hannibal petted through Will’s hair, seeming infuriatingly calm, except that Will could hear his heart thudding at brutal speed against his fist, could see the intense feeling swirling in his eyes, the openness of his emotion, how wretchedly he had fought to never give into Will again like this, how easily he gave in. 

“I enjoy the taste of your suffering nearly as much as the experience of being the one to save you and relieve it. The process itself is irresistible, but I never intended to hurt you without healing you, nor to hurt you unless it was ultimately in your best interest.”

“You’re terrible,” Will gulped, “selfish, despicable…”

“Yes.” Hannibal kissed his forehead.

“I love you,” Will confessed, looking up at him with his wide blue eyes swimming in tears that salted his lips. “So much.”

“I know that, too.” Hannibal kissed him slowly, tender, wet and so achingly loving. He kissed across Will’s damp cheeks and the tip of his nose, his bearded jawline and chin. 

He kissed Will’s lips and swallowed the resulting moan as Will melted tighter against him, hands wound around his neck and slipping into his hair, rifling through silvery locks to render them as messy as this outburst of feeling.

“Despite everything, all I can seem to want is for you to take care of me,” Will sighed, nuzzling into Hannibal’s chest as the other man rubbed his back. He could hear Hannibal’s heart thundering harshly beneath his frail excuse for a person suit, echoing back his own words. “But I need you to let me take care of you, too.”

“No more secrets,” Hannibal suggested huskily. Their fingers worked deftly over each other’s shirts, shedding the garments as Hannibal gave a regretful glance to the stove.

“Shut the stove off,” Will insisted despite his growling, empty stomach. He was hungrier for Hannibal and the food could wait. “Finish it later.”

“Dreadfully irresponsible of me.” Hannibal said as they kissed their way down the hall, leaving their pants in a rumpled heap in the bedroom doorway. “You must be ravenous by now.”

“I’m fucking _starving_ ,” Will gritted out, licking hard into Hannibal’s mouth, then jumping up as Hannibal instinctively caught him. Will locked his arms around Hannibal’s neck and legs around his hips as Hannibal kissed him reckless, dizzy and bloody from the way they bit at each other, then lapped up the blood, moaning at the taste and the surrender of the mutual hunt.

Hannibal laid him down while Will stayed stubbornly wrapped around him, meeting Hannibal’s feral grinding with reciprocal friction and more gasps, but this time there could be words, too. Will hardly knew where to start, _where_ , in among the thousands and thousands of sentiments he’d banked away, he should begin to let Hannibal know fully how he ruled all of Will’s stars with ruthless, beloved, irresistible dominance.

“You’re so beautiful when you let go with me,” Hannibal sighed, biting into his neck as Will’s nails scored new lines down his back. “Let me show you how much I love you, baby.”

“Yes,” Will cried again, purely happy tears this time, for the first time he could remember shedding such tears, despite the anguish of every open, gushing wound they had occasioned each other. He revelled in the pain of it, licking up Hannibal’s neck to whisper in his ear, “Yes, please, daddy.”

Hannibal moaned, lost in emotion and erotic need as he fumbled for the nearby drawer where the lube was. His lonely eyes bored into Will’s again, finding reassurance in the dark, rough waves of feeling mixed up in all that blue. Will’s beautiful beast, his monster, his soulmate. How could they ever part? However he had managed to wrench himself away in the past, it was never happening again.

Hannibal slicked up their cocks and took them both in hand, driving Will mad with the feel of Hannibal’s huge, throbbing-hot dick pressed against his own pulsing erection. 

“Please, daddy, need you inside me,” Will begged, panting, dragging his nails down Hannibal’s chest, drawing more blood from thin, deep scratches that left him mesmerized, shocked again by his own ferocity, moved beyond words by Hannibal’s ecstatic acceptance of his every greedy, naughty move.

“So impetuous,” Hannibal accused, moving down the bed and licking with teasing swirls around the head of Will’s cock, fingers already pressing into his hole at the same time. “So demanding.”

“I can’t help what I need.” Will lavished his most daring lost-boy gaze on Hannibal’s flushed face. “Don’t you want to fuck me, daddy? Get so deep inside you hurt me in all the right places?”

Hannibal moaned again, the sound broken into a near-howl, and abandoned his usual savoring habits of preparation. He entered Will in a long, rough thrust, their eyes locked with intense rapture as Will winced and whined. Hannibal slapped his face, not gently. 

“Eyes open, baby. You wanted this, now take it.” 

Hannibal’s voice was gruff, his heart still pounding so hard against Will’s own as they lay together as close as they could get, and it seemed Hannibal’s hot, perfect cock would split Will wide open, silky foreskin over thick hardness pressing even deeper, then deeper still--

“You-- uhh-- oh! Daddy…” Will kept his eyes open but they rolled up just like his hips, rocking into Hannibal’s every savage thrust. “Daddy, daddy…”

He’d never thought of saying this to Hannibal before that night in the kitchen, but now it seemed the word had been on the tip of his tongue all along, smothered by his mind substituting the word “wrong,” creating a frenzy of confusion. It felt so good, so right to say it now, to see the way two syllables could make Hannibal ferocious and ardently devoted all at once, changing their position to shift Will’s hips up higher until Will held his own legs in place as best he could. It was a struggle to maintain the grasp with Hannibal fucking into him with such steady, relentless insistence that his body trembled almost convulsively, his cock twitching with need as he sputtered out, “Daddy, please -- can I --”

Hannibal spanked his ass hard, but couldn’t help giving in. He loved to spoil Will, and Will had learned how to take advantage of it. 

“Go on,” he grunted, sweat glistening off his golden skin and hard muscle, mingling with the reddened marks Will had left all over his chest and back, down to the soft place in his low belly that made Will’s taste buds tingle distractedly, dreaming of how, at his next opportunity, he would languorously lick and lap at that warm, hairy, tender area where Hannibal’s otherwise flawless physique gave way to his epicurean habits. So unreasonably sexy.

He’d love to come all over Hannibal’s stomach, stripe it in sticky seed, then eat it up while Hannibal watched, God how that would drive them both crazy...the world blurred again as wickedly dirty thoughts intensified the pleasure building inside him.

“Come for daddy,” Hannibal invited, lifting Will’s ankles higher and thrusting faster until they both came, Will's hand roving fast over his cock. Will burst all over himself in thick currents while Hannibal shuddered, releasing Will's ankles to paint his sensitive, pulsating hole with cum. 

“My very good boy, my special boy,” Hannibal sighed, sliding down the bed and eating Will out. The open, wet, sloppy sensation combined with the remaining waves of his orgasm to make Will’s vision short out for a moment full of blood and stars and Hannibal’s tongue in him, his deep voice vibrating with enjoyment as Will’s cock went on twitching, another slow dribble of cum exuding from the tip. It was some sort of small second orgasm that made Will’s entire body tense up, almost fearful of his pleasure being pushed so far out of normal bounds. 

“You’re alright, Will,” Hannibal said fondly, kissing his eyelids as Will lay there sprawled out on his back, limbs splayed haphazardly, letting out ragged breaths. “You’re here with me, and you’re better than fine, isn’t that right?”

“Yes, yes,” said Will almost numbly, going along with boneless ease as Hannibal turned him onto his side and spooned up behind him, kissing his neck and then simply breathing into quiet, soothing snuggles the likes of which Will had denied him for weeks. 

Hannibal had nearly begged for these cuddles, and now they were the only thing holding Will together. “I’m going to hold you until you fall asleep again, and then I’ll go down and finish dinner. We can have it tomorrow night. I’ll make omelets when you wake again.”

Will shivered and Hannibal kissed his bicep, then pulled the blankets up to keep him warmer. 

“Thank you, daddy,” Will smiled, melting into slumber. He was drifting weightless in space among galaxies and truth and beauty. He had no further need for guilt or any such artificial construct, only this, as long as he could have it. Everything was so clear now.

***

“Know what I was thinking?” Will asked sleepily, it seemed some time around dawn. A faint hint of sunlight had stolen in through the curtain folds, and Hannibal was lying on his side, staring at Will, methodically tracing his cheek, then playing with his curls.

Will registered no surprise at randomly waking to find his lover anxiously watching him through the night; he just resumed their conversation as though this was completely normal. It made Hannibal smile, his face relaxing slightly.

“What were you thinking, mylimasis, my love?”

Will blushed at the translation of the pretty Lithuanian endearment, then replied, “About that ridiculous box of symbolic crackers. How much I love what you were saying with them.”

“And what was your translation?” Hannibal arched a brow and lazily traced the muscles in Will’s arm.

“I think you were telling me that I mess up your exceptionally organized life, and you still want me to stay and make it even messier. I feel the same way. Well, first of all I’m so hungry I feel like I haven’t eaten in days, and then under that, I love you so much it hurts. I wanna mess you up so bad, Hannibal.”

“First, I think, breakfast in bed,” Hannibal smiled, looking back when Will reached for his hand.

“I’m not going anywhere, you know.” Will swallowed at the sight of Hannibal’s teary eyes and the way he couldn’t maintain eye contact with Will, ducking his head in bashful confusion at the overflow of feeling inside him. “I’ll never leave you. I mean, we have to get the dogs, but other than that. You don’t have to stay up all night worrying I’ll disappear.”

Hannibal, struck speechless, only nodded, then went back to his safe space, the kitchen, to think over these matters in temporary solitude.

***

“Oh, thank God,” Will grinned, sitting up straighter in happy anticipation due to the waft of delicious, savory cuisine that entered the room along with Hannibal.

“A protein scramble, just right for a boy who expended every ounce of energy last night.” Hannibal arranged a tray of glorious breakfast in front of Will, who would have gobbled it down in about three bites had he not cautioned, “Go slowly, and blow on it, it is hot.”

“It’s like I’ve never tasted food before,” Will marveled, eating as politely as he possibly could, mindful of Hannibal’s emphasis on table manners. Still, he made fast work of the eggs and sausages, then the toast before downing the orange juice in a few long, delighted sips.

“Are you not going to question the origin of the meat?” Hannibal asked, more calmly consuming his own plate next to Will. 

“Do I need to?” Will chortled, bumping their shoulders. “Just tell me it was someone really dreadful because whoever they are, they taste great.”

“A gas station attendant who accused me of topping off the tank,” Hannibal replied nonchalantly, blowing on his coffee. “While that was rude, I must admit I killed him because he looked a little like you, and it annoyed me.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Will sighed, “We’re going to have a nice, long discussion about new rules soon. For now, let’s agree that any future meals will be made only from despicable people who deserve to die for legitimate reasons, and not because you’re in a bitchy mood that day.”

“An easy enough concession. Have you any other rules to suggest at this juncture?” Hannibal inquired, playfully nudging Will’s foot with his own.

“If I can trust you not to kill me after any given argument and make me into veal parm, can you trust me enough to be totally honest from here on out? No more hiding, no more tricks, and definitely no more truth serum because you’re not gonna need it. Also, it’s rude, and you supposedly _hate_ rude.”

“It was rather uncouth of me, I know. I apologize, and solemnly vow to uphold your edicts.” 

“Do you ever just… _say_ something? Without all the flowery stuff? Don’t get me wrong, I love the flowery stuff, but--”

“I love you,” Hannibal smiled, setting their trays on the floor and kissing Will’s neck as his hands wandered along Will’s body, quickly finding all the spots that made him quiver and lose the ability to form cogent thought. “That is simple enough, I think.”

“Jesus, Hannibal, you can’t be serious,” Will half-complained, half-moaned as Hannibal ran a finger between his ass cheeks. Hannibal didn’t answer, just went on kissing, alternating contentedly from his ear to his lip and neck while he pressed two fingers into Will. His ass was still tacky and slick with lube and cum, and Hannibal hissed at the feeling.

“You filthy, depraved, naughty, naughty boy,” he muttered, fucking his fingers in harder. “You should be ashamed of yourself.”

“Oh, that’s so good, fuck,” Will sighed, throwing his head back as Hannibal smiled into his neck, then bit him, reigniting the pain in a fading bruise. “Hannibal, it’s too much, really, we can’t--”

“Do you want it, baby?” Hannibal asked, adding a third finger as Will cried out, “Yes!”

“Yes…?” Hannibal hovered over him, his breath warm, tickling his face. 

“Yes, daddy, I want it, please.”

“Then you’ll have it as many times as I can give it to you, day and night.”

Will sighed sharply as Hannibal lined up his cock again, entering Will with an ease so fluid it seemed to confirm they were made to fit together, lips crushing euphorically as Hannibal began to rock into him. He had time to fleetingly determine he was definitely taking a long, thorough shower after this, time to imagine Hannibal distracting him again under the cascade of hot water, but then Hannibal thrust harder and Will grabbed at him, whimpering in pleasure.

“What are you going to do with me, besides hold me prisoner in your bed and teach me how to kill…” Will rubbed his fingers through Hannibal’s silver-spun hair and down his strong, broad back over smooth skin and taut muscle, loving every move, every stroke and sigh they shared. “And cook and let me teach you how to care? Anything else?”

“I’ll marry you,” Hannibal smiled, fucking him with long, slow, deep thrusts, speaking in a breathlessly insistent rumble. “I’ll take you away from this place that’s driven you to such despair and turned all your desires into sins. I’ll steal you, baby, and keep you all to myself.”

Will moaned and let Hannibal pin his wrists to the sheets, making lingering, powerful love to him with such an incandescent look of regal splendor about him, such animal passion and such elegant majesty. 

Then Will smiled back and asked around another moan, “Promise?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last bit of the story got longer than expected, so I split it in half. The rest is coming soon 🥰


	6. Chapter 6

They spent the next day lingering over every sweet surprise of simply being together without fighting it. At Will’s house, they went for a long walk through the woods, hand in hand, with the dogs frolicking ahead of them. 

“Take me to the chapel you were drawing yesterday,” Will said thoughtfully. “It’s special, isn’t it?”

“The Norman Chapel in Palermo,” Hannibal explained, “The foyer has long represented for me the entrance to my memory palace. I would love nothing more than to show you Italy, Will, and much more of the world beyond that.”

“Book the plane.” Will smirked at Hannibal’s raised brows and automatic incredulity, as if Will’s commitment to their new life was a trick, not necessarily of Will’s making, but perhaps that this was a mere vision concocted by his most unlikely hopes. Perhaps it would disintegrate if Hannibal looked at Will too long or started to fully believe it. “I’m serious, I want to go with you. If Abigail wants to come, then let’s bring her, too.”

It seemed to be a little too much to ask Hannibal to meet his eyes right then or carry on a serious conversation. He noticed the normally unflappable doctor biting hard on the inside of his cheek before adding flippantly, blushing, “Do we have to bring _all_ of your dogs?”

“ _Our_ dogs,” Will winked, briskly slapping Hannibal’s behind before he jogged forward to play with the family of barking, happy strays. 

When they got back to the house, Will packed a suitcase, deciding he’d send a suitably enigmatic message to Jack and Alana once he was long gone. 

***

Hannibal served the marinara sauce over linguine and shrimp for their last dinner in this life, the last they would share within the walls of this house which had witnessed so much fraught, ultimately precious interaction between them. They had spoken to Abigail on the phone and firmed up plans to depart for Italy in the morning. Then there was the matter of making arrangements for the dogs with the airline and reserving accommodations that were to Hannibal’s standard while also allowing for pets. Since Hannibal then calmly dedicated a couple of hours to cleaning out his office, Will was blown away the man still wanted to cook dinner himself.

“You really are the ultimate multitasker,” Will marveled.

“Time management and appropriate application of expertise are key,” Hannibal replied, slotting in time for an indulgently wicked glance in Will’s direction.

Will would miss it here, in ways he never would have predicted, but Hannibal was right: they would always have this place. He took particular enjoyment in the tell-tale attributes of the place, storing them up in his own memory palace. 

The kitchen where he’d once dropped by with a bottle of wine, too shy to stay for dinner if strangers were there; he only wanted Hannibal. The same kitchen where Hannibal prepared their many meals, and where Will once pointed a gun at him as arousal pulsed wildly through his body, a sickening, forbidden delight. The way they had profaned the room with their uncontrollable lust that night Will came to him rain-soaked, taken over by forbidden addiction. 

The dining room with its fragrant garden of herbs around them and the slow sunset through the window painting the sky in sherbet hues. The quietly effortless rapport of their mutual understanding, the warmth in their two presences intertwined.

And of course, the taste of Hannibal’s scrumptious cuisine on his palate was never as much fun as when he could reach for his hand across the table and give him shameless bedroom eyes.

“This is delicious,” Will grinned as he noticed Hannibal’s resistance to his flirtation again reaching a breaking point despite the emphasis he placed on meals. “I can’t help but notice, though, it’s comfort food. You were making this last night, when you thought…”

“When I thought it was hopeless between us, that the fortress around your heart was insuperable.” Hannibal patted a corner of his mouth with his napkin and admitted, “Comfort food is an undeniable temptation for the broken-hearted.”

“I won’t break your heart again,” Will said firmly, tilting his head to chase Hannibal’s evasive gaze. “Hey. Do you believe me?”

Hannibal set his fork down and took a sip of merlot as if to bolster his nerves. “After dessert,” he requested, “Will you show me?”

***

“Sorry about dessert,” Will said, his mouth rough and wet against Hannibal’s in the hallway. 

“No you’re not,” Hannibal sighed as he was pressed against the wall leading up to the bedroom doorway, Will biting at his neck and impatiently yanking his shirt open, sending buttons flying.

“No, I’m not.” Will laughed huskily, then made quick work of Hannibal’s belt and trousers. 

“Are you quite sure we won’t have interruptions from the dogs?” 

Will looked up from his position on his knees, palming over Hannibal’s engorged cock through his underwear and chuckled. He could hardly believe his lover was _still_ deflecting his overflow of emotion with jaded comments and random distractions, nor how adorable he found the habit. 

“They’re asleep, Hannibal. You have my full attention.” He slipped down Hannibal’s silky boxers carefully, making the other man groan as his beautiful cock sprang free, pearly with precum at the tip. 

Will’s mouth watered and he locked eyes with Hannibal, bright blue to hazy autumn gold as he added, “And you’re all mine, yes?”

“Yes, baby,” Hannibal gasped, hands deep in Will’s hair and tugging possessively. 

Will sucked him with a still-evolving expertise to which he was gluttonously committed. He knew by now how Hannibal liked to be touched and licked, how it made the cannibal grit his teeth and throw his head back when Will rolled the foreskin back and forth, how he could render Hannibal breathless with long, deep slurping strokes of his tight mouth, keeping his eyes big and innocent the whole time.

He drove Hannibal to near-wailing desperation, then pulled his mouth off at a tormenting interval so close to orgasm that Hannibal looked ready to cry.

“Oh, we’re just getting started,” Will drawled, slowly licking his lips. “Get on the bed. On your back.”

Hannibal complied, looking up in awe as Will climbed astride him, running long, pretty fingers over his sculpted features, sharp skin under soft bone, soft lips where Will traced them as Hannibal undid Will’s trousers. “You’re in a hurry, huh?” Will smiled, somehow gentle and predatory all at once. “You need me to have you.”

“I love you,” Hannibal professed, leaning into every caress of Will’s hand against his cheek, kissing his fingertips. “You’ve ruined me for everything else. I need to feel you inside me more than I need to breathe.”

Hannibal’s immense vulnerability sent fire racing through Will’s veins, his heart speeding up as he grew harder. He stood just long enough to shuck off his clothes, then he spread Hannibal’s thighs generously, stroking his legs when they began to tremble. 

“Look at you,” he sighed, “You’re never more beautiful than you are right before you break apart for me. If I could keep you there forever, out on a ledge for me, I would.”

Hannibal’s eyes fluttered shut as Will began to kiss his body slowly, inch by inch, across his chest, up to his shoulders, still massaging his thigh, hand moving in teasingly gradual progress closer to his groin. 

“You need me in control sometimes,” Will muttered, biting at his pectorals, pressing his thumb into Hannibal’s lower lip. “To remind you you’re alive. It’s a little scary isn’t it, being the one to let go? And you…” He traced over the length of Hannibal’s cock with one finger as the older man shivered. “You get off on the thrill.”

“Yes,” Hannibal said honestly, watching Will with exquisite reverence. 

Will slid two fingers past Hannibal’s luscious lips, lips he could barely stand to look at without kissing them. “Then suck.”

Hannibal began to fellate his fingers with such masterful talent that Will groaned at the hard suction and warm, eager licking. Every time, it was like Will was his favorite thing to taste and he could never get enough; he might lose his mind and go too far if he ever fully gave into the hunger. 

“Fuck,” Will gasped, withdrawing his fingers and sinking down the bed to lay delighted siege to his hole with his fingers and tongue, free hand tightening on Hannibal’s thigh when the other man moaned with total abandon. Where was the implacably put together Dr. Lecter now? Light years away, being systematically dismantled in the sweetest, most merciless manner.

“It’s enough,” Hannibal insisted, gripping tight on Will’s curls, “Please, I’m ready. Need you now.”

It wasn’t enough yet, and they both knew it, but Hannibal’s desire to cause himself pain rather than having to wait another second drove Will even crazier.

Still, he clucked his tongue, deliriously high on the sensation of drawing this out, the thought of how far he could take it, how hard he could make Hannibal come. He had to grip his own cock with a shudder at the thought, eyes flashing in an arrogantly loving taunt as Hannibal watched him in pleading, worshipful admiration. The wild mixture of emotions, from domination and teasing to unbearable arousal, made Will dizzy, yet even more determined. 

“No, daddy,” he said softly, his hands so gentle as they stroked through Hannibal’s sweat-damp hair that the touch was its own form of torture. “I’ll tell you when you’re ready.”

Hannibal nodded, half-managing to suppress a whimper. 

“And guess what? While you were packing up the office this afternoon, so very busy disposing of all those patient records...I had a closer look in your drawer here.” Will opened the lower drawer of the bedside table as Hannibal choked on his next breath. 

“It’s almost just the idea of what I might do to you that gets you close, isn’t it?” Will hummed, looming over Hannibal with a large, vibrating butt plug in one hand. He pushed his hair, slick with perspiration, back from his forehead, feeling the bold flush of vigorous excitement in his cheeks.

Hannibal nodded, lightly trailing his hands over Will’s thighs and ass. “Mere weeks ago, if you so much as touched me, if you even looked at me in a certain way, I would have to excuse myself from the room.”

“Naughty daddy,” Will smirked, “Touching yourself in the next room, making yourself come for me. I’m going to wear you out. You’ll sleep through the whole flight tomorrow, and I’ll be so proud of myself the entire time, knowing it’s because of what I did to you.”

As Will readied the sex toy with an appropriately extravagant amount of lube, then pressed it inside in achingly gradual slides, Hannibal bit his lip, widening his thighs and then swearing coarsely, something he did so rarely that it sounded a million times dirtier than anyone else cursing, “ _Fuck,_ Will, baby please, fuck me--”

“How does it feel?” Will cooed, using the remote control to turn on the thrusting and swelling action in the toy. Hannibal’s ass held tight to the plug as it pushed deeper all on its own, and his cock was so very hard and gorgeous, slightly shaded in red and purple, jerking a little without the slightest touch from Will.

“I can’t hold back much longer,” Hannibal gritted out, hair by now matted to his brow, his nipples rock hard and his dick heavily throbbing. “I’m trying, Will, but it’s too much--”

“Good.” Will turned the vibrator up to the next level of pressure, and gave into the need to stroke himself as he watched the toy stretching and hammering deeper into Hannibal’s tight, yet helplessly accommodating body. “You’re doing so good, daddy. I’ll take care of everything so you don’t have to worry.” 

Hannibal grabbed at the sheets, fingers twisting feverishly as his hips arched off the bed. Will chose this moment to shut the vibration off and then carefully ease the now hot and slick toy from his ass. 

“That’s okay,” Will soothed, caressing Hannibal’s face as the other man squeezed his eyes shut, bearing the deprivation of orgasm with such strength, and Will knew there was nothing he couldn’t endure at Will’s hands and be grateful the entire time. “Can you feel it now, Hannibal? My devotion?” He gathered some precum from Hannibal’s dick and sucked it off his fingers with a moan of enjoyment, then ran his digits feather-light over Hannibal’s lips as the older man desperately licked at his skin.

“Can you taste it?”

“Yes,” said Hannibal immediately.

“Then you’ve earned a reward,” Will determined saucily. He held Hannibal’s obediently lax wrists tight to the bed and ground into him rhythmically until he wondered which one of them he was edging. Fending off the need to come, he squeezed his cock, then thrust it into Hannibal at last, taking it very slow, gliding all the way in just to pull out completely, watching the way Hannibal’s body sucked him in, then released him with a soft pop, the way he had wrecked his hole and made it sore, reddened and pulsing with the obvious need for more.

That was when Will let loose a ragged burst of swears, the syllables rushing into each other and landing in nonsensical, grunting gasps. He threw Hannibal’s leg, lean, lovely and strong, over one shoulder and fucked him so hard he almost lost the ability to draw breath.

At the same time, Hannibal forgot how to speak English. All Will could make out through the blur of sleek, sweaty ecstasy was his own name cast among a magnificent string of doubtless obscene remarks, exotic and filthy-sounding. A new blaze of prideful accomplishment and delight at pushing Hannibal’s pleasure this far made his own control snap as he bit fiercely into Hannibal’s calf and exploded inside him, his body racked with bliss.

Breathing hectically at best, Will kept on thrusting until the slide of his torso against Hannibal’s cock brought the very result he’d been aiming for. “Let go now,” he whispered adoringly. 

Hannibal’s mouth dropped open in a silent cry, his whole body going still for several long moments suspended in deferred, unbelievable pleasure. There was no more elegance, only what remained of Hannibal beneath his eloquent sophistication, which was both feral and unspeakably tender.

He latched onto Will afterwards, even clingier than usual although he must be completely drained of all energy by now. Still, he pressed his face into Will’s chest and threw a leg over his own. Hannibal’s body was heavy, skin burning up and moist. He smelled like heaven, of his bath soap and natural manly heat and their sex, and Will breathed him in deeply, massaging over his back.

Hannibal tightened his grip in a reflex of desperation, a yearning to have what he already had and truly believe it was real.

“Okay,” Will chuckled softly, letting Hannibal squeeze as hard as he wanted, which was a lot. It hurt a little, but that was okay, too.

***

After starting their affair without words, it was amazing to Will now, the way they sometimes couldn’t seem to shut up. It seemed that every unasked question accumulated over the whole time of their knowing each other, smoldering in silent desire, then making love like furtive thieves in the night, came tumbling out with no chance of reserve. He would have had it no other way.

It was late into the night, and they’d enjoyed a long bath together before coming back to bed, just lying there naked under the silky sheets, their hands pressed together as they both admired the way their fingers lined up, the simple, anchoring union of the touch. Will’s fingers were long but more slender, Hannibal’s palm wider, pale skin to golden tan. He stared as Hannibal laced their fingers together, wondering how so easy a gesture could be infinitely comforting.

“When did you know?” Will ventured into the contented quiet. “Do you remember?”

Hannibal didn’t need to ask for more specifics. “How could I forget?” He quirked a mischievous smile. “I believe it was somewhere between when you said, ‘is that a burst vein?’ and ‘I try to avoid eyes whenever possible.’”

Will’s brow furrowed. “But that...Hannibal, that was less than five minutes after meeting me.”

“Can you really blame me, when you were so utterly charming in your disapproval of anything in your path? So lovely without remotely realizing it? How could I help myself?” Hannibal continued toying with Will’s curls to his heart’s content, making Will relax even more, drowsy but still overcome with curiosity.

He blushed slightly and nibbled his lip when Hannibal asked, “When did you know?”

“The day you visited me in prison, after Matthew Brown. You seemed so angry with me, but you couldn’t hide that you were also proud.”

“I was enthralled by you,” Hannibal admitted, nodding down at his scarred forearm, “Exhilarated to have been marked by you for life.”

“I marked you for _death_ , and you glared at me like you were going to wrench the cell bars open and fuck me right then and there for anyone to see.”

“You were aroused?”

“Oh, God, yeah, but I wouldn’t admit it. I waited for night to jerk off, and the waiting almost killed me, and still I tried to think of absolutely nothing at all, just getting off. Deep down, I knew it was for you.”

Hannibal’s breath caught, and Will slipped a stray lock of hair back behind his ear. “I knew it was more than lust. It was everything building up inside me, realizing that seeing the reality of who you were...never made me mourn for the man I thought was my friend. I saw you and I wanted to see more and more.”

“You wanted to see what would happen,” Hannibal guessed with a coy smile.

“I still do.” Will snuggled up closer, ear to Hannibal’s steady, happy heartbeat, hand on the back of his neck, Hannibal’s lips warm against his brow. “What about you, when did you first...you know…”

“Think of you and touch myself? Do you remember the second time we met, when I brought you breakfast in the motel room? You had the audacity to answer the door wearing a pair of obscenely short shorts.”

Will laughed and kissed his neck, “I didn’t know it was going to be you!”

“Deliberate or not, you elected not to put any further attire on during our whole breakfast. Surely you felt the heat of my admiration. Did it embolden you?”

“I don’t think my thought process was anywhere near that lucid. I thought I was straight at the time.”

“Really, Will. Could you tell? Did you like it, my eyes all over your beautiful body, wanting you?”

“Jesus,” Will sucked in a breath as fresh arousal made his skin tingle. “Maybe. Yeah, I guess I felt it, but I told myself to ignore it, stay professional, that I obviously didn’t reciprocate. I lied to myself for so long thinking it would be _much_ less complicated to be alone and miserable. Seems silly in retrospect.”

“Then I was silly, too.”

“True,” Will granted, “But tell me what you did after.”

“I waited until I was alone in my own room at the motel the next evening. And despite the fact that the tasteless, cheap decor ought to have made the place repugnant to me for anything more than the unavoidable need to sleep, I found again that I could not help myself. I thought about knocking on your door, but instead I took off all of my clothes…”

They were naked here and now, yet something about learning of this secret past incident, hearing Hannibal recall it in his deep, sensuous, throaty voice was doing evil, delightful things to Will. 

“And I thought about what I would do to this body,” Hannibal murmured, slinking his curved knuckles down Will’s chest, feeling the sharp intake of his breath making his belly retract. “Your surprise, the sounds you would make, the feel of you around me, fucking you into the bed until you couldn’t move. I came so hard that I had to bite my hand so you wouldn’t hear me, down the hall in your room...but it was more than lust. Even then, I was confronted by the uncomfortable awareness of emotion I had previously avoided, to which I had applauded myself for being impervious.”

“So soon? You barely knew me.”

“And so you may imagine how I feel now, knowing you inside and out. I used to fear you would be repulsed by my affections, not only because of the things I did to you in the past, but also...because I can be..." It pained Hannibal to ever speak negatively of himself, Will knew, but he still managed to finish the sentence: "Excessive.”

“No,” Will said immediately, “I love it. Your excess it’s...just right for me. I don’t ever want you to change.”

“A relief. I don’t believe I could stop if I wanted to. Perhaps I…” 

Will looked up, mildly baffled, at the way Hannibal lapsed into silence out of nowhere. He giggled quietly to find that Hannibal had fallen asleep, right as he was probably about to go off on some over-the-top, grandiose psychoanalytic tangent about their relationship. Already dreaming of escape and traveling the world and being a family, at peace with his true self and free for the first time, Will allowed himself to follow Hannibal into a joyous slumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you made it this far, thank you for indulging me when the story got longer than I originally planned! And thanks as always to everyone for reading and for kudos and comments. <3<3<3


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